She looked up sharply. ‘No, not Fletcher. Karim. I thought he was a man of integrity.’ Her hatred for Borgia made the lying much easier.
‘How many times have you seen Fletcher with Karim?’
‘Just the one time, aboard Mr Karim’s plane. I recently accompanied Mr Karim to Chicago.’
Borgia nodded, urging her along. M leaned back in her seat and stared out of her window, reminding herself to draw out her words, as if speaking them were the cause of her great discomfort.
‘Mr Karim left after we touched down,’ she said. ‘I stayed on board to catch up on some paperwork. When he returned, he’d brought along a passenger — a man he introduced as Robert Pepin.’
‘And then you knew.’
‘No, not then. Robert Pepin had short grey hair, and he was wearing sunglasses. I didn’t realize he was Malcolm Fletcher until this afternoon. I saw Fletcher’s picture on the front pages of all the newspapers. On the telly. And then I thought back to Robert Pepin because his face… his face was very, very similar to Fletcher’s.’
‘Why didn’t you call the hotline?’
M had anticipated the question. ‘I’ve worked as Mr Karim’s personal assistant for the better part of my adult life,’ she said. ‘I believed he was a man of impeccable integrity. My home phone and my cell haven’t stopped ringing over the past forty-eight hours, different people calling to tell me that Karim was stabbed. That he was rushed to a New Jersey hospital and clinging to life. That he’s in a coma and is most likely going to die.’
‘Is that what the doctors told you?’
‘And the nurses. I was in a state of shock — I still am, I think.’
‘Understandable,’ Borgia said.
‘Then I wake today only to find out that Malcolm Fletcher, a man who suspiciously looks like the man who boarded Karim’s plane — the papers and the news are saying that this man attacked Karim, and I’ve been trying to figure out why.’
She waited for Borgia to speak.
When he didn’t, she said, ‘Is it true? That Fletcher tried to kill Karim?’
‘It is, but I’m afraid I can’t get into specifics,’ Borgia said. ‘You also saw Pepin — Fletcher — inside Karim’s house.’
M found the flashcard for confusion. She tilted her head to the side, her gaze narrowing when she said: ‘No. I’ve never once seen him inside the house.’
‘You were there when Fletcher arrived in the Jaguar.’
‘The one parked in the garage?’
Borgia nodded. ‘Fletcher was inside the house for over an hour.’
‘I didn’t see him.’
‘You went to his house that morning. At 6.43 a.m.’
‘Mr Karim had some paperwork to give me.’
‘And you didn’t see Fletcher.’
‘No. I took the paperwork and left.’
‘Where did you go?’
‘To do errands for Mr Karim.’
‘Such as?’
‘Dry cleaning, post office and what have you.’
‘What about the basement?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘The in-ground apartment,’ Borgia said. ‘Have you ever stayed there?’
‘No.’
‘It’s the only locked place inside the house — secured by a steel door that can be only accessed by a code. Odd, don’t you think?’
‘I’m the man’s assistant, not his bloody wife.’ M had purposely expressed her anger, wanting to keep Borgia off guard. She let it linger for a moment, then said: ‘I apologize for my tone. It’s late, I’m tired, and I’m worried about Mr Karim, and I’m confused, as you can imagine.’
‘Have you heard him speaking about a man named Nathan Santiago?’
She pretended to think about it. She had seen the video of the room, all that blood. Santiago had left behind his DNA and fingerprints; Borgia had found a match in the federal databases.
‘The name doesn’t sound familiar,’ she said. ‘Who is he?’
‘It’s not important. Is this what you wanted to tell me? That you saw Fletcher on board Karim’s plane?’
‘There’s one other thing,’ she said, sliding the BlackBerry from her jacket pocket. ‘When Mr Karim left for New Jersey, he asked me to do him a… favour.’
‘What kind of favour?’
M didn’t answer. She read his face and found the corresponding flashcard: discomfort.
They were travelling along the New Jersey Turnpike now, the highway dotted with many lights but only a few cars.
‘If you know something, Miss White — if you’re in possession of information that can benefit my investigation, I would encourage you to tell me now before this escalates. I would hate to see you go down with your boss.’
‘Pull over. I have to show you something.’
‘Show me now.’
‘You can’t watch and drive at the same time.’
‘Watch what?’
‘This,’ M said, and tapped a finger on the screen to play the video.
74
M placed her BlackBerry in Borgia’s line of vision. The video played, Borgia’s confident voice echoing over the phone’s speakers: ‘ I’m going to go check your gun permit. When I return, Mr Karim, if you don’t tell me where you’ve hidden Fletcher, I’ll have tear gas launched inside every room of this house. ’
It was interesting to watch Alexander Borgia’s curious physical transformation. He sat up, rigid, a flash of surprise, maybe even fear, on his face. The confidence had vanished. His gaze widened and his jaw dropped, as if a deer had suddenly materialized on the highway directly in front of them. Then he remembered he was driving, righted himself and got control of the wheel.
‘Pull into the breakdown lane,’ M said. ‘Slowly. Try anything stupid and I’ll press a button and email this across the country.’
Borgia grew very still. She studied his expression and found the matching flashcard: fear.
He hit the blinker and, checking his mirrors, navigated his way across the lanes. M lowered the BlackBerry. She decreased its volume and then placed the phone on the seat between them. Her eyes never left Borgia.
They had come to a full stop. M unbuckled her seatbelt after Borgia had put the car in park. He left the engine running, and the video played between them, the sound occasionally broken by the whoosh of a passing car.
Borgia twisted around in his seat to face her.
‘Eyes straight ahead, Mr Borgia.’
He looked out of the front window. ‘That video gets out,’ he said, draping his arms over the top of the steering wheel, ‘you’ll condemn your boss. He’ll serve time; you know that. You’ll destroy his company, his reputation, everything he’s built. He’ll never recover.’
‘Why did you try to kill Karim?’
‘Sorry, but that’s above my pay grade. And yours.’
‘Meaning?’
‘What do you think is going to happen next? That you’re going to, what, walk away and live your life?’
‘Karim’s lawyers are in possession of this video,’ she said, which was true. She had given a copy of it as well as the others to Karim’s legal team. ‘If something should happen to me, this video will be posted on Twitter, Facebook and YouTube.’
